


Ghostboy (Rafael Barba)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit RPF
Genre: Fear, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Sickness, Trans!Reader - Freeform, Unwanted Pregnancy, he/him pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-07 06:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: requested by @princebishi: Hi! Could I request a TransMasc!Reader x Barba fic? Maybe with hurt/comfort/fluff and/or slow burn! Thank you so much!important, please read: I am not taking svu requests again! I spoke with the requester for this at length about the lack of transgender representation in media, and in fanfiction. I decided that I would make an exeption to my no-more-svu rule and start a new fic that perhaps could make someone as happy as I am when I find trans!reader fanficitons. maybe this will change in the future, but if it does there will be an official post on my blog and probably a note before one of the chapters.word count: 1.8k ++warnings: trans!reader, he/him pronouns, mentions of rape, unwanted pregnancy, sickness, fear





	1. Chapter 1

Trudging to class was the last thing you wanted to do when your medicine ran out, but you had to. Missing one class would be your downfall because once you missed the first time, you’d be too tempted.

At least, that’s what your Mom told you when you graduated high school. But high school was a long way away, and graduation was looming over your head, the degree and the inevitable job search keeping you up at night.

Almost as much as the medical bills you were going to face after graduation were keeping you up at night. God, so many…

But you had promised your parents, when you came out, that you’d do the whole transition thing on your own… It was somewhat of backhanded support but you worked the summer between your junior and senior year to get the cash to change your name, the bodega hot and smoky, but it was worth it. (Although, it would be nice not to have to bind in New York summer’s, to voice train… To correct people all of the time… but your mother insisted on you being you on your terms, with no help from your parents…)

A larger body bumped into you, jerking you rather painfully from your thoughts of your parents. You gritted your teeth, everything inside of you to light the person a new one, but then you saw his face. He was flushed, eyes heavy-lidded, and his body seemed to wiggle like the ramen you were looking forward to after class. Instead of yelling at him, or apologizing, you surged forward at the same time the man collapsed.

He was shorter than other men you’d encountered, but still taller than you, so catching him was rather hard. You let your satchel hit the ground, not having time to cringe when you heard your laptop screen break, and his body collapsed into yours.

Your back hit a light-pole, the man’s face smooshing against your shoulder as you did your best to hold him up on shaking knees. What could you do? You couldn’t leave him - not in the state he was in. You’d lived in New York for a fair amount of time and you, especially you, knew how dangerous it was for someone to be inebriated or unconscious on the street. Or, well, anywhere. But you had to get to class…

To make matters worse, the sky opened up and decided to let loose the white, fluffy hell that you’d been trying to avoid by making it to the subway on time. Instead you had a man who felt like he was on fucking fire sweating on you and mumbling incoherently.

And nobody was stopping to help, nope. You were on your own unless you could think yourself out of it. Which, admittedly, you should have been able to do. You had to think on your feet for years, toeing around who you really were before you decided to come out and then trying to get out of situations your gender had gotten you into in the world you lived in.

So what would you do?

Gritting your teeth, cursing whatever God you thought wouldn’t strike you down, you did your best to lay him out on the freezing pavement as gently as you could. You were too good of a person to leave him like that - and you had already missed the train that would take you to university - so what would it hurt to try and find a phone or an address in the large, thick, leather briefcase he had dropped when he dropped onto you?

You stepped over him, collecting it and the papers that had also dropped, before you sat down next to the man’s sweaty, mumbling head. Hopefully his phone was in his case and not on his person because you’d… Well, you’d have to try and find it. The thought of doing so made your stomach churn, but you knew better than to take a stranger to the hospital. No matter how expensive people dressed or how their hair was done, some people just couldn’t afford an ambulance, let alone the medical bills in the fucking city.

Although, if you could tell someone’s financial status by looking at them, the man looked like he could afford to buy the hospital.

Luckily, though, you found the slim, black smartphone in the pocket of his briefcase, visibly sagging in relief when it had no password on it. It wasn’t smart, but dear God did it help you and the man. A thought struck you as you looked at the beach on his home screen - who would you call? Perhaps an Uber or Lyft? But where would you take him?

Certainly not to your house, and you had never used one of those apps before, so did they save your home address? You clicked open his phone and saw that he had missed six calls from someone named Liv - and all on that day. Liv would be your best bet, so you clicked on their name and steeled yourself for the phone call. The phone only rang three times before a voice came through the line, verging on yelling but not.

“Barba! Where are you? We’ve got our witness and only an hour left before he decides that work and drugs are more important. If you don’t get your ass over here we’re not going to get him to rehab in time to testify!”

Those… Everything that Liv was saying was lawyer speak, jargon you’d recognized from your gallant, but short, journey into majoring in law.  You hesitated, looking over the man’s - Barba’s - form as he struggled to breath next to you.

You swallowed thickly, “Uh, um, actually, I’m not Barba? I’m, well, I’m a stranger but your friend - or maybe co-worker - he’s, uh, sick? Like he bumped into me and now we’re just… We’re, uh, on the pavement because he’s got like a really high fever.” The phone was silent and you were afraid that Liv had hung up, “Don’t worry I’m not gonna like, hurt him or anything, but I don’t know what to do, he’s really, really sick.”

“Who are you?”

The question, and the abrasiveness of it, caught you off guard. Your voice broke as you replied with your name - only your first - and tried to backtrack, “Listen! Please, I’ll send you our location just please come get your friend!” And, in a panic, you hung up the phone before the voice could respond. Your heart was pounding as you held the phone in front of you, ignoring the calls as the poured in, the name changing every time. Liv, Sonny, Rollins, Fin, Amaro…

You did as you promised and sent Liv your location, spying an empty bench not too far away… You could make it with him if you did it fast, but you were binding…. You bit the bullet anyway, gritting your teeth as you hefted the boiling, mumbling man and his briefcase onto your person, grabbing your laptop. You let him down onto the bench, settling on the pavement in front of him. You had heard something crack when you dropped your bag - and you prayed it wasn’t your laptop. When you took it out to survey the damage your worst fear came true: your laptop was fucked.

You’d deal with that later, after you got home. You had no idea what Liv looked like, let alone how many of the other names would show up, so you had to be ready to bolt. You’d wait until they got there and take off before they could catch you, leaving them to tend to their friend or their lawyer or whatever. You’d get your wish soon enough, because a very serious woman in a very serious pantsuit came barreling toward you and the bench straight out of a squad car. She sent fear straight through your heart, and the blond man who stood from the driver’s seat - and seemed to keep standing and standing and standing - made you afraid you were going to get arrested.

Instead of hanging around you stood and disappeared into the crowd. That was one of the best advantages to being who you were - shorter than the average dude, you could become invisible at a moment’s notice. You could hear people calling for you, and the man looking for you over the crowd when you glanced over your shoulder, but you were gone before he could find you.

When you got back to your apartment, sweating and having an anxiety attack, your roommate was waiting, her sister crying into her shoulder. If you were shaking, Chyanne was vibrating. Young, only sixteen, she looked up to you with doe eyes and a wobbling lip as your roommate - Alexandra - stood and ushered you to the hall outside your room. “What are you doing home?”

You recoiled because, if only for a moment, it seemed like you were being reprimanded, “Oh, uh, I don’t know?” Your voice cracked and Alexandra seemed to be vibrating too - but with anger. “What’s wrong with Chyanne?”

“Were you at that party last weekend?”

“What?”  
  
“That fuckin’ party with all those teenage brats and like, alcohol we both knew shouldn’t have been there but it was there anyway. I can’t remember if you were there.”

You nodded slowly, remembering how sloshed Alexandra had gotten that night, “Yeah, I was there. I crashed out halfway through the party, though. I didn’t like teenagers when I was a teenager and now I’m a grown ass man.”

“Do you remember who Chyanne was hanging out with?”

“What?”

“Who was Chyanne hanging out with?” Alexandra was holding your shoulders gazing into your eyes like they held a code and she desperately needed to get through the door, “I need you to think, okay?” A sick feeling settled in your stomach and you tried to think back to the party. It wasn’t working, your day and Alexandra’s face distracting you to the point that you were shifting uncomfortably under your friend and roommate’s gaze.

“Look, Alex, what the hell is happening?”

She was exasperated, shoving you into your room and shutting the door behind you, “Why are you so freakin’ stubborn?” Angry sighing, flailing her limbs around, “Jesus, ah, Chyanne is pregnant.” It hit you like a ton of bricks, eyebrows shooting up and disappearing into your hairline. Chyanne was young, and looked younger than she was. It was almost impossible for her to be pregnant - she was shy and easily spoken over -

“Are you sure?”

Alexandra stepped forward to slap frantically at your shoulder, gritting her teeth, “Yes, we’re sure. We just got back from the fucking doctor. I _need_ you to remember who she was with at the party!”

“God, Alex, I’m not sure. Some fuckin’ kid with braces and like, a shaved head. I don’t know his name, he’s some high school punk that was talking to Chyanne and her friends in the kitchen. That’s the last time I was out of my room for the night. What’s so important about knowing who was with her at the party?” Alexandra’s eyes told you all you needed to know about Chyanne and the mystery boy, his child growing inside of her.

“Let’s just say I needed a witness before I could go to the police.”


	2. o2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> important, please read: I am not taking svu requests again! I spoke with the requester for this at length about the lack of transgender representation in media, and in fanfiction. I decided that I would make an exception to my no-more-svu rule and start a new fic that perhaps could make someone as happy as I am when I find trans!reader fanficitons. maybe this will change in the future, but if it does there will be an official post on my blog and probably a note before one of the chapters.
> 
> word count: 2k ++
> 
> warnings: trans!reader, he/him pronouns, mentions of rape, unwanted pregnancy, sickness, fear, mentions of medicine, depression, ptsd, deadnaming

Alex presses the money into your hand, eyes as frantic as your heart under your ribs, and she thanks you again. “Listen, Chyanne might as well be my own sister. You don’t have to thank me for being there for her.”

“I know but it’s so shitty that my boss won’t let me out of this contract.”

“We’re going to need the money,” Your voice drops, “There’s a baby on the way. Legal fees.”

“And you have finals.”

“Fuck finals.” Your voice is poignant, final. Alexandra holds your gaze for a moment, “Literally fuck them. I promised you I’d be here to help, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Alexandra winds her spindly arms around your shoulders and pulls you close to her, breath shaky as she exhales and tries to get herself together. “So what do we need to do today?”

Your friend releases you and wipes under her eyes before her mascara can run, “They just need to confirm that you saw Leroy with her at the party.” She shakes her head, “Of course, we already have other witnesses but…”

“But they’re underage druggies and alcoholics.”

“Exactly.”

“So why is Chyanne coming with?”

“She… She doesn’t like to be alone anymore, and this is going to be a long case…. We’re going to have to get to know the detectives, but the team only has two women on it. You’re one of the only men she’s comfortable being around because she knows-”

“I’ll kick anyone’s ass?”

Alexandra laughs before kissing your cheek on her way out the door, “Yeah, because you’ll kick anyone’s ass.” You pocket the money for the cab that Alexandra had given you before taking a deep breath and leaning your forehead against your apartment door. It’s strange how just three weeks earlier you were on the ground underneath the snowy sky with a stranger and now you were escorting the girl who was your sister in all rights except blood to the police station to talk about….

You can’t even bring yourself to think the word without your stomach turning and anger boiling behind your eyelids and pooling in your knuckles. Since that day, the day where you found Alexandra vibrating in anger, but still comforting her as she cried on her older sister’s shoulder, she had pretty much stayed locked up in your room.

You understood why she didn’t want to, or couldn’t, step foot in her room, again. Besides, the detectives had ransacked it looking for evidence one day whilst you were at classes. You doubt it could pass as Chyanne’s room anymore.

Now, it was nothing more than a crime scene, left to rot in the center of your apartment.

It didn’t matter, though. You were happy to sleep on the couch if it meant the teenager could have a good night’s sleep and come out to weakly eat. You knew it was important she stay as comfortable as possible.

She had a long road ahead of her.

Chyanne, as you were lost in your thoughts pressed against the lumber, mumbles your name to break you out of your thought bubble. “Hm?” You hum, looking back at her and fingering the money in your pocket, “Are you okay, darlin’?”

Chyanne nods, biting her lip and crossing her arms over her stomach, “Can I borrow a sweatshirt to go in? All I have clean are my soccer shirts and they…” She takes a deep breath, “They all have my name on the back of them.” You swallow the sadness that burns the same as the anger before nodding.

“Take whatever you want. How bout we go shopping and get you more winter clothes after this?” She smiles, but it doesn’t pass her nose. Tucking a lock of fiery red hair behind her ear she turns and heads back to your, now her, room.

You know what it’s like to hate your own name. For your stomach to turn when you hear it, for it to burn through your lungs and turn your ribs to ashes, to metastasize in your liver and put stones in your kidneys, to take the blood from your heart and turn it to concrete in your feet. But you had changed yours and, you fear, that’s what Chyanne will have to do.

The poor girl cannot even stand for her sister to utter her name, so you and Alex had both defaulted to darling, honey, or little one.

Anything but Chyanne.

Your mouth tastes like copper as you move to the kitchen and snag a water bottle from the fridge, concentrating on the cool taste rather than the thoughts swimming in your head. You had never been questioned by the police before - except for the water heater incident your first year of middle school and the dirt bike accident your senior year - but those were just to find out why.

Not who, when, where, what, and how.

Never for something so personal, so vile. Suddenly, you regret drinking anything and put the water bottle away before your stomach erupts from your mouth. You clench your teeth and close your eyes, listening for the shuffling of Chyanne’s feet. She shuffles now, more so than the way she used to dance across flat surfaces.

You know she’ll be back to it, but you also know healing takes time.

Seh shuffles back into the room and catches your attention with your name, “Don’t forget to take your meds before we leave. I don’t think this is going to be a short visit.”

Another way to protect herself, like the dark grey hoodie on her body from the year you graduated, calling the meetings at the station visits. You and Alex let her do what she needed, and really only press her to take her medications for the baby.

You cough, turning away from her, “Thank you-” And you cut your voice short before you say her name, the thought of causing her pain sending a chill down your spine. “Yeah, I had almost forgotten again.”

“You forget a lot.”

You almost dump your pills everywhere because, for a moment, she sounds like the old Chyanne. Sweet, light, giggling between every syllable.

“I have the memory of a goldfish, darlin’, I would forget my own hair if it wasn’t growing out of my skull.” She laughs, loud and bright and it brings a laugh out of you, too, as you dry swallow your four daily pills.

“I have money for the cab.”

“Nonsense, I’ve got it. And money for some new clothes, too. Where ever you want to go - I’ll even go into that one store with you, with the glitter all over? What’s it called….” The name escapes you and your eyes drift up toward the ceiling as you try to think, but Chyanne knows what you’re talking about, even with the vague description.

“Oh! Justice! They’re not…” She giggles, hiding behind the sleeves of the too-long hoodie, “They’re not exactly a cool store anymore.” You flush from the chest up to your hairline, nodding as you shoo her toward the door.

“Right, yeah. Well, it has been nearly a decade since I’ve been a girl. I might just need your help, darling.” Her laugh lights up the hallway as she sticks to your side all the way to the street below.

* * *

 

You’re met at the door by a man only half a foot taller than you, skinny, and tired-looking. He introduces himself as Seargent Amaro, and you recognize him faintly from the overturning of the bedroom turned crime scene.

“Yeah, right,” You give him your name and your firm hand to shake, “Uh, I’m here for my meeting.” Chyanne has drifted off, shuffling to the desk of a blonde woman who visibly lights up at seeing the teenager.

You worry a little less at that.

“Right, with the Lieutenant?”

“I guess,” You supply, “My roommate, Chyanne’s sister, didn’t really supply me with who I’m meeting with. Just that you guys need my statement.” Detective Amaro takes you to a desk covered in papers, manilla file folders stuffed with more papes, and empty coffee cups before he shuffles through the mess, looking all at once like he has no idea where the thing he’s looking for is and yet like he knows exactly where it is. “So, uh, who’s the Lieutenant?”

“Oh, her names Olivia Benson. She looks scary - it’s the pantsuit - but I promise she doesn’t bite.” He flashes you a smile and it makes your heart skip a beat, but you see the ring and you squash any thoughts you might have had. He pulls a thin file from underneath his keyboard after a few moments of shuffling and wets his finger with his tongue before leafing through it. “Actually, you’re meeting with Barba and Carisi - Liv’s out following a lead on another case…”

The three names send a shock through your system, spine straightening and eyes widening almost imperceptibly.

Almost.

It doesn’t matter though, because at the moment the blond man who stood for centuries when he got out of the squad car slips lightly through an open door in the back talking to the man… The man who took your breath away literally when you had caught him, and figuratively as you watch him parade through, peacocking in a baby blue shirt with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up, and suspenders cast off of his shoulders to hang past his hips. Everything about him screams sex to you, more so than even Amaro standing in front of you, and you feel yourself literally stop breathing as you realize the implications of working with this man and the woman you had given the slip weeks prior. You gulp and flush again, thinking of your fucked up laptop sitting on the dining room table at home, with the papers you had failed because of that day.

You don’t know whether to feel angry or thankful you get to see him again.

Amaro guides you over with a bone-rattling grip and you want to do nothing more than to tell him to fuck off, but you have to behave.

Alex told you so, and you listen to Alex more so than your own mother.

“Barba,” Amaro calls out, stopping the two men just before they disappear through another door, “Carisi, your ten o’clock is here.” It’s meant to be a joke but the taller man’s baby blues narrow angrily at you, a hand coming up to waggle a finger in your direction. He must be Carisi.

“You!” His bellow draws the attention of most, if not all, of the people in the room, “You’re the one who drugged Barba!”

“For the last time, I wasn’t drugged. I had the flu.”

“And you broke my laptop!” It escapes before you can stop it, but Carisi is still on a tirade.

“Do you know how many hours were wasted trying to find you, kid? How many times we ran your prints through the database? Who just runs off like that? Where are your parents?” You snort air through your nose, eyebrows disappearing toward your hairline.

“Excuse me?”

“Carisi-!” Barba’s tone is warning but you silence him with a look.

“I’m a grown ass man, detective. I’m a seventh year senior in college about to graduate with not one, but two degrees with two minors. Do you know how much work that is? I’m no kid, and my parents haven’t ruled where I go, who I talk to, and if I run away from the police in many years. Now, if you’re through throwing a hissy fit, we have actually important things to speak about!” Your anger doesn’t die down like you would like it to, but instead intensified when you narrow your eyes onto Barba. “And you, sir, should stay home when you are sick! My laptop is shattered, hard drive fried, because you tried to go to work when you couldn’t even stand upright! Not to mention I put three ribs out of place trying to lug you around!”

Your voice rings in the silence and everyone looks shocked - everyone, that is, except for a beaming redhead sixteen-year-old in your hoodie and her arms wrapped around her stomach.


End file.
